Things You Never Forget
by Silmarillion
Summary: Remus muses, Sirius sleeps. And sometimes you can't go back to who you used to be. SLASH


A/N: This was dashed off in protest of Marriage Protection Week. As you can probably tell, this is not my usual pairing. 'Shippers, tell me if I've committed character assassination. Commentary, especially on Remus, would be more than welcome.

"Sirius?"

A muffled noise came from somewhere in the general vicinity of the kitchen. Remus yanked the door shut then, right before the echoing slam, thought better of it. He winced and looked guiltily at the painting. For a second the curtains seemed to stir, but nothing happened. Remus had the presence of mind not to breathe a sigh of relief until he had passed through the entrance hall.

"Sirius?"

The figure in the chair didn't move. He appeared to be asleep, but after years of experience with Sirius' often-juvenile sense of humour, Remus wasn't willing to bet on it. He sat down heavily in the other armchair, glancing at the still figure. Maybe he really was asleep… untroubled dreams would be too much to hope for, but he didn't need to be told that Sirius was having trouble sleeping in his childhood home. He could see clearly from his seat and sat in silence, watching the firelight play across Sirius' face. The position was not unfamiliar, even after all these years.

" 'Lo," he said softly, with a half-smile. Sirius didn't stir. Not that it mattered. Remus felt a pang of remorse for enjoying this peaceful visit to the most rotting, gloomy House of Black—_but he has been so difficult lately._ He'd spent countless evenings during the past few months sneaking into the house, trying to convince Sirius that there was no way he could sneak down to Hogsmeade—Harry would not think it was fun, and would he please just shut up about the bloody thing and do his job for the Order.

He'd briefly considered asking Sirius to stay with him, but they'd had more than a few close calls with Remus' landlady in less than a month, and both knew that it wouldn't work. Remus had his doubts about their ability to live in any close quarters—betrayal and mistrust were difficult to overcome, doubly so after twelve years of silence.

Remus had never visited Grimmauld Place as a boy, but he could vividly recall Sirius' black moods that never failed to set in the week before the holidays. Even now, there were some things he wouldn't talk about. It was a relief for all of them when the Potters started 'the boarding house' over the holidays. And then there was that summer evening—

Sirius flicked open his eyes. Remus thought he saw something (Surprise? Annoyance? Dare he say it, a touch of pleasure?) flash across that face. _Likely just the firelight_. Sirius stared at him, draped across the sofa in a position painfully reminiscent of their boyhood. As if sharing thoughts, they both looked toward the ottoman sitting in front of the fire _(Why would he set up the furniture like that? Why does he insist on remembering?)_. Sirius sprawled gracefully across the sofa, James commanding from a low seat in front of the fire, Peter on the floor between them. And Remus, observing from the shadows. Remus the scholar, the spectator. Dumbledore had told him of the influence he had over his friends, and gently instructed him to make use of it. But he held back, gladly relinquishing his position as a prefect. Perhaps this disinclination to be something more than a spectator was what led him to be branded the traitor. Or at least that's what he told himself, when he could think about it. It hurt, but less so than the more likely reason—the bite he'd received a small child.

__

If only. I've spent enough time playing what if. Remus walked over to the sofa.

Sirius looked up at him, his eyes half open. "Here to tell me to be a good puppy and stay in the house?"

"And to convince you that running off isn't going to do Harry a bit of good."

Sirius swore. "He told you? He's James' son, I can't just sit—"

"James' _son_. With far more sense than any of us had at his age."

Sirius glared at him, with the surly expression that was becoming default.

"Do you think it doesn't make me angry that our best friend's son was raised by Muggles? Do you think I don't spend every day wondering what went wrong, blaming myself for everything from Peter turning out the way he did to the way Snape treats Harry now? At least you didn't spend twelve years believing—"

"No," Sirius said hollowly. "I had the truth to sustain me. And memories."

"How weary seem to me all the uses of this world. That it should come to this," Remus muttered softly. He turned to go.

With the long strides characteristic of his Animagus form, Sirius quickly crossed the room. Remus looked back when he felt Sirius' hand on his shoulder, expecting token resistance. Instead, almost hesitantly, Sirius leaned forward and brushed his lips against Remus' own. Remus pulled back in shock, glimpsing for a split second the pathetic look of loss on Sirius' face, quickly replaced by an indifferent mask.

__

There's no point in looking back. No way to regain what was lost. But that doesn't mean we can't work toward the future. Remus looked Sirius straight in the eyes. This time it wasn't the fault of the firelight. He started an apology, but soon found that it wasn't necessary. At least not in that form.

There are some things you never forget.

~~~~~~~~

"You know I don't … Sirius, I can' t stay." 

The abyss was still there. A tiny crack one day. An unreachable distance the next. There are many things you never forget. But at times it was possible to do so, and ignoring its existence was the most dangerous of all.

"I love you."

"What?" They'd shied away from those words. It had been their undoing at eighteen. Sirius had never spoken of the day he left home for good, but Remus was rather sure his name had come up in that row. In what context he didn't know, didn't want to know. But it was there, and they both knew it.

Sirius repeated himself.

Remus expressed disbelief.

Sirius repeated himself. Sirius expressed impatience about having to repeat himself.

"I'm …I—" And that's as far as he got for quite some time.

"Does Harry know?"

"Does it matter." Not a question. Sirius grinned. It looked wrong somehow, a ghost of his old expression. He thought. Remus didn't really remember anymore. At one time he could merely close his eyes, as if Sirius was etched on his eyelids. He wasn't sure if he missed it. It's possible to be too close to someone. _Fuck, I'm sick of being the responsible one._

He kissed him very gently. He felt Sirius smile, and—

"Marry me?"

"Pardon?"

Sirius glared.

"And I thought there was nothing the wizarding world hated more than a werewolf trying to be normal. I wonder how they'd react to an openly gay werewolf, corrupting the innocent mind of our boy hero."

Sirius smacked him with a pillow and put an arm around him. "Well, points for coming up with a new one."

"I've had over a decade to think about it."

"And you'll never let me forget it, will you?"

"…"

"Trust goes both ways, Moony. Tell me 'not now' if you have to, but…maybe when all of this is over"

__

I've brooded on the past for too long. "Yes."


End file.
